


Grace

by SqrrlgrrlM



Category: Fleabag
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27123407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqrrlgrrlM/pseuds/SqrrlgrrlM
Summary: The Priest can’t move on. And he can’t find her. Seems like God really does want to keep them apart. Or does He?
Relationships: Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag)
Comments: 59
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

After their parting at the bus stop, the Priest found that the only way we could get on with his life without  _ her _ in it was to throw himself into his work. To do that, he overscheduled himself like a helicopter parent with an only child. Youth sports, home visits, fundraising-he was involved as much as he could be. To compliment his restaurant reviews, he started a once a month meal prep workshop with the resulting dinners going to housebound parishioners. He went out of his way to engage with his parishioners. Sick? Expect a call from Father. Child left for uni? Father would be by with some baked goods and a hanky. Engaged? You were about to have the most intense - and most amusing - premarital counseling sessions  _ ever _ . 

His congregation, hesitant about their new priest at first, found his devotion and accessibility touching and soon stopped constantly comparing him to the belated Father Patrick. He brought a vigor and vitality to the parish that had been missing. If he occasionally seemed melancholy or brooding, well, he  _ was _ Irish after all. These things were to be expected. 

As time passed, the painful ache of his love for his Atheist dulled but never truly went away. He hoped she believed his bullshit when he said  _ it’ll pass _ , because he certainly didn’t. He knew that he would always love her, always miss her, and always regret that he couldn’t be with her. Nothing in his life since then had convinced him otherwise. He still thought of her regularly and the most mundane things would remind him of her. Zebras. Coconuts. Dressing rooms. 

He was surprised that they never ran into each other when he was out in the world. He didn’t go out of his way to avoid anywhere she might be, nor did he try to seek her out. He just assumed, half-dreading, half-hopeful, that they would eventually cross paths again at some point. After a year, he began to think the lack of her was a sign from God, like the falling paintings. He was keeping them apart because He knew how hard the Priest struggled to stay away from her and just how little control he had around her. The Priest knew he should be grateful that he wasn’t being tempted to stray from his chosen path, but all he could think was, “Interfering bastard,” while shooting a dark look at the heavens which was then followed by a surge of guilt. 

When the invitation to her father and godmother’s one year anniversary came, his heart leapt at the thought of seeing her again.  _ I’m sure she’s moved on,  _ he thought,  _ but I just need to know she’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with being concerned for a friend, is there? _ He’s pretty sure God isn’t fooled. Especially once the Priest began agonizing over his outfit for the party. After rotating through every combination of lay clothing in his (small) wardrobe and contemplating a quick shopping trip to find something a little more flattering, the Priest came to the uncomfortable realization that his only real option was to wear his black slacks and tabbed collar button-up. Dressing like a “real boy” would only send mixed messages and he didn’t want to hurt her again. The clerical clothing would be a buffer between them.  _ Right. Like that worked so fucking well the last time.  _

Decision made, he sat down to write his next homily. 

The month passed agonizingly slowly. The Priest found himself elated and despondent by turns. Seeing her. Speaking to her. Knowing she was likely to be with someone else. Dreading the thought that she might respond to him as if he were a distant acquaintance. He would notice his heart racing during his sermons, when reading quietly in the garden, listening to the Youthie Band practice. 

His dreams, the one place where he could visit her without guilt or shame, took on an explicit quality they hadn’t had since they’d first parted. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to take himself in hand each morning when he awoke, hard and aching from dreams of his hands fisted in her soft hair and her hot mouth wrapped around his throbbing cock. The fact that the dreams paled in comparison to his memories of their night together actually made waking up from them worse. He began each morning that last week before the anniversary party with bracingly cold showers. He also upped the mileage on his daily run in the hopes he would be too exhausted to dream at night. 

Despite his initial excitement about attending the party, the Priest wondered if he should find an excuse to beg off. Perhaps he could say there was a sickly parishioner in need of comfort... _ Bah. I’m a right fucking coward for even contemplating it. Should have begged off from the beginning if I wasn’t going to go. It’ll be fine. I’ll congratulate the happy couple, make small talk, see that she’s moved on like I knew she would, and come back with this all behind me.  _ Armoring himself with these thoughts, the Priest dressed and hurried to catch the bus. 

The party is in full swing when he arrives - lights on in every room of the house and the faint sound of music drifting from the garden. He’s barely knocked at the door when it’s flung open and the Bride, now the Wife, squeals with delight. 

“Father! I’m so delighted you could make it! And with your little... doggy...thing...on too! How wonderful! There are so many people I’m dying for you to meet!” 

He’s ushered inside and the Wife, keeping a possessive hand on his bicep, begins dragging him around to various groups for introductions. 

“Father, this is my dear friend Magda. She’s a transsexual, though you’d never believe it to look at her. Ravishing, isn’t she? Magda, this is the delightful priest who married us. He’s a real Catholic priest - went to Seminary and everything! You should have seen the lovely dress he wore to my wedding. Almost upstaged the bride! Naughty man!” She gives his arm a squeeze on that last bit and he finds himself flushing uncomfortably. 

“Well, you know us Catholics - can’t resist a pretty dress when we see one! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Magda.”

Before he can say anything more, the Wife (Godmother. He’s just going to go with Godmother.) drags him over to the next group of guests and makes the next set of appalling introductions. There’s Eko, the former child soldier turned musician. Amiko, who is genderfluid, and who sculpts “ ** _the_** **_most_** _amazing nudes. Really, Father, you should sit for us, I mean, her. We could call it The Lord’s Shepherd Laid Bare. It would be_ ** _so_** _moving. Show the man behind the cloth, so to speak.”_ He doesn't like the glint in her eyes when she says this. It makes him feel exposed in all the wrong ways. 

He tries to search for Her without being too obvious, but never catches so much as a glimpse. She has to be here, right? Maybe she was just avoiding him. And if she was avoiding him, maybe it meant that it hadn’t passed for her yet, either. 

He managed to escape the Godmother’s literal clutches when the bell went again and another interesting friend arrived. He meandered through the house, upstairs and down, greeting other attendees briefly and moving on when he didn’t see the face he was looking for. With no success indoors, he makes his way to the garden and starts his search in the alley, thinking she may be catching a quick smoke. 

He rounds the corner quickly, heart thumping in anticipation. 

“Woah! Oh, I’m so sorry, didn’t mean to, ah, interrupt!”

The dark haired man busy grinding his long-legged companion against the wall turned his head to look, the irritation on his features melting into amusement when he espies the clerical uniform. 

“No worries, Father,” the man grins, “We’re just here getting to know each other a bit.”

His companion peeks around and gives the Priest a guilty smile. His heart makes his way from his throat back to his chest - it isn’t Her! 

“Elizabeth?”

“Hi Father.” She gives him an embarrassed finger wave. 

“Um...well...sorry to interrupt. Carry on! See you at church on Sunday?” Shit. Why did he ask that? He wants to slap his forehead and run. 

“Um. Yes. Sunday.”

“Good. Okay. Well, bye then.”

Jesus. This is why he shouldn’t be let out in public. He’s such an eedjit. 

_ I’ll make one circuit ‘round the garden and then head out. Either she’s not here or she’s  _ **really** _ good at hiding.  _

He finds the Groom (The Husband? The Father? No, thinking of him as the Father is just too weird) having a smoke in a well-hidden corner of the garden, surrounded by tall plants and trailing vines. The Groom startles guiltily when the Priest pushes through the foliage. 

“Oh...uh...s-sorry! Sorry! I didn’t...you...uh…” He makes to toss his cigarette down and the Priest shakes his head. 

“Don’t stop on my account! In fact - have one to spare?” The Groom smiles shyly and passes him a cigarette then lights it for him. 

“This is a lovely party. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Oh, well, ... you know...we uh...well, uh, very much.”

“I feel the same way,” the Priest responds with a kind smile. The Groom flashes a relieved grin and they smoke in companionable silence for a few minutes while the Priest works up the nerve to ask about his Atheist. 

“So, I haven’t seen your daughters tonight. Is everything okay?” He cringes internally, hoping the Groom can’t see how desperate he is for the answer. 

“Oh, well, you see...Claire…”

“Darling! Darling! There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” The Groom hastily tossed away his cigarette into the bushes and surreptitiously pops a mint in his mouth. 

The Wife bursts through the foliage, wrinkling her nose at the smell. “Father! I didn’t realize you smoked. Terrible habit, but I guess you have to have  _ some  _ vices, don’t you? You’ll have to tell me all about them sometime. I’m sure they’re  _ fascinating!  _ Come along Darling! Amiko wants to talk to us about a couples sculpture.”

The Groom flashes an apologetic smile and trails off after his wife. 

The Priest, realizing he’s sweating despite the cool air outside, wipes his brow and makes a beeline for the gate. His Atheist isn’t here and he needs to leave before her Godmother can find a way to browbeat him into doing something truly dreadful. 

_ Where is She? _

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit leaves the Priest in turmoil.

A few months later when he received an email from the Godmother requesting he baptize her new grandson, all he could do was stare at the screen in shock, his mind reeling with questions. Was the baby his Atheist’s? Is that why she hadn’t been at the anniversary party? If it was her, why would she want her child baptized? Why him? Had she met someone and found God? So many questions tumbling through his mind so fast they were making him sick. Maybe it was Claire. It had to be Claire, right? But no, she and Martin had divorced. Jake had mentioned it once before practice, an oddly pleased smile on his usually somber face. 

Before he could even begin to formulate an answer to her email, a new one popped up from the same sender. He opened it with some trepidation. 

_ Pam said you were free tomorrow at 10 a.m. My stepdaughter will meet with you then to go over the arrangements. We’ll have celebratory tea in the garden after the baptism, so do be a dear and keep the service short. Ciao! xx _

ohgodohgodohgodohgod

What the hell was he going to do tomorrow? Fucking Pam. Maybe he needed to leave her instructions regarding this particular family. It wouldn’t even be especially suspicious - Pam had met the Godmother and was partly scandalized and partly amused by her over-the-top sexuality and oblivious narcissism. Add in Creepy Jake and Martin and it was a wonder the family hadn’t been banned from the church, en masse, by the Lord himself. There was a lesson on God’s enduring love right there…

The Priest shook his head to clear it and closed out of his email. No need to respond - she wasn’t taking  _ No _ for an answer anyway. 

Despite getting well and truly jarred on a bottle of whiskey of dubious quality before bed, he didn’t sleep much at all that night. Every time he would drift off he’d suddenly jerk awake from some new thought. Would her husband come with her? Would they share that obvious pull of attraction between them that the Priest always thought belonged to him and his Atheist alone? Would he have to watch her looking at someone else like she wanted to drag them off to the nearest secluded spot and have her way with them? Would she leave the conversation, drifting off...somewhere...else or would she be fully present? Would her lips be painted red and quirk _just_ _so_ when she found something funny? 

When he did manage to drift off, his dreams replayed scenes from their night together. Sliding his hands under her coat and feeling the soft, warm skin hiding beneath. The feel of her teeth on his earlobe, tugging gently at it before sliding her mouth down to nip at his neck. Her giggling at the sound of the groan dragged out of him by the feeling of the sharpness of her teeth on his skin. The way his brain short-circuited when he grabbed her hips and pulled her hard against him, grinding his erection against her with hard, steady thrusts. The last image he saw before he woke was the look in her eyes when he finally,  _ finally _ entered her - love and lust and an intangible  _ something _ that filled his heart near to bursting. 

He sighed deeply and scrubbed his hands over his face. Waking up with a hangover  _ and _ an erection was bad enough, but dreaming of their night together was the worst because he had felt that  _ something  _ too and it had made him want to pour all of his battered love, all of his aging body, all of his broken soul into her, into  _ them _ . His heart had recognized a kindred spirit the first night they met. But he had already wrecked his life once and pledging himself to God and the Church was the only thing that had kept him going. 

He had tried to tell her that night at her flat. Tried to find the words to explain how poor of a choice he really was. How broken and lacking. But he was too weak. He couldn’t help but overhear her hurried conversation with Mr. Nine Times and couldn’t - didn’t want to - stop the hot surge of jealousy that boiled up inside him. His speech about not having sex with her because he would fall in love with her was utter bullshit. He was gone the minute their eyes met during mass when he heard her call out her ill-timed response. He still could have walked away. Given her his practiced speech, apologized for his drunken behaviour the night before, told her that he was flattered by her interest but really was devoted to his calling, and then walked away. He knew now that she would have let him go. She had respected his choice at the bus stop after the wedding, hadn’t tried to convince him to choose her, had abided by his request that she stay away from him and the church. If he had had the strength to walk away from her that night, she would have never known how much he wanted to choose her. How much he wanted her, period. Instead, he’d given in to his jealousy and his desire and spent the night trying to erase her thoughts of any man,  _ anyone _ , but him. He used every trick he knew, every technique, every bit of knowledge gleaned over the course of his very experimental youth to please her. Worship her.  _ Love  _ her. And then broken both their hearts because he was too much of a coward to make the hard choice. Story of his life. 

Fuck. 

A knock at his door startled him out of his self-recriminations. 

“Father? Are you ill? It’s half past and you’re usually out on your run by now. Shall I fetch you some tea?”

“No, no, sorry Pam, I’m fine. Just a bit knackered this morning. Lacing up my runners now. Looks like a grand day for a run. That should freshen me up.”

“Okay then. I’ll get everything ready for your 10 o’clock then start on the sweeping up.”

He heard her footsteps retreat down the hallway and drug himself out of bed, resigned to getting the morning over with. 

***

He was sitting behind his desk in his office sipping a mug of tea, nursing his aching head, and trying to steel himself for his 10 o’clock meeting when his door swung open and was briskly closed by a very well-tailored Claire.

_ Oh thank god.  _

She sat in the chair with her legs crossed and hands folded in her lap looking for all the world like she was there to negotiate a hostile takeover. 

“Oh, Claire! Hi!”

“Stop right there. Let me get this out of the way first so that we understand each other.” His heart dropped. 

“This was not my idea. My husband’s family is religious. I am not. He wanted this baptism and Godmother  _ insisted  _ it be here since we already have ties to this church. So there we are. Now, I have ten minutes before I have to leave to make my next meeting. What do you need from me?”

“Oh, ur, um..” he was so flustered he couldn’t get the words out. 

She looked pointedly at her watch. 

“Oh, well,” he stalled, flipping quickly through his planner. “I just need to know which Sunday, your son’s name, the names of the godparents, and the number of immediate family members to ensure we have space.”

“Cade Christopher, the last Sunday of the month, Gael and Talia Järvinen, and six. Myself, my husband Klare, Cade’s godparents, my dad, and Godmother.”

He visibly startled. 

“Your sister won’t be there?”

“No.” She glanced down at her watch. “If we’re done here…?” She didn’t even wait for his response before getting up. She placed a business card on his desk. “Call me if you need additional information. Do  _ not _ let my Godmother talk you into anything...odd.” Claire nodded her head at him and walked briskly to the door. 

“Oh! Congratulations on your…”

The door shut.    
  


“...baby,” he finished quietly. 

What. The. Hell.  _ That is one tightly wound woman. It amazes me that she’s related to my Atheist.  _ He knew the relationship between the sisters had been rocky, but he’d really thought they’d patched it up. They’d seemed friendly at the wedding. He could see Claire not asking his Atheist to be her son’s godmother since, well, atheist. But he thought she would attend the baptism at the very least. 

Then a horrifying thought struck him. What if his Atheist wasn’t coming because of his ban? Surely she knew that he’d never want her to miss out on important family events, didn’t she?

He felt like an utter bastard. It seems like he fails her at every turn. They are where they are because  _ he _ couldn’t help himself. Oh, it started out innocently enough with wanting to offer comfort when he thought she had miscarried, but he started edging into selfish territory when he invited her to come by to visit whenever she wanted. Then, instead of cutting off all personal contact when he realized that she was interested in having sex with him and that he was really fascinated by her, he said he wanted to be friends and asked her to go vestment shopping with him. Then commented on her tits after a Quaker meeting. Then followed her to her café in that disastrous attempt to get to know her. Then convinced her to  _ give her fucking confession _ just so he could get the information about her she had denied him earlier, which he promptly ruined by flinging back the confessional curtain and falling to his knees to kiss her like he was damned and she was his only salvation, before running away when the fallen picture reminded him of where he was. Then he showed up at her door twenty-four hours later and enthusiastically broke his vows, her knickers, and probably a few indecency laws over the course of one very memorable and athletic night. Then he pinned her to the side of her father’s house right before his wedding and snogged her senseless. And then. Then.  **Then** . He walked away. And told her she was never allowed in his church again. And now there was the very real possibility that she was missing out on her nephew’s baptism because of it. Bastard. 

He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. He had to reach out to her. Let her know that she didn’t have to stay away for this. Make this right somehow. Fuck. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The worst game of hide-and-seek ever!

If he had been a better man, he would have gone to her café immediately after his meeting with Claire. However, as he has proven time and time again, he is not a better man. 

Instead, he finished out his duties for the day and went for another run to clear his mind. 

When he walked back in after his run he could hear Pam softly singing hymns as she prepared dinner. For all her brashness elsewhere in her life, Pam was very self-conscious about her voice, so he tried not to disturb her as he made his way upstairs for a shower. 

As the water pounded over his head, he ran through and discarded scenario after scenario for his meeting with his Atheist. Nothing felt right. And he needed an exit strategy firmly in place so he couldn’t talk himself into staying any longer than absolutely necessary to deliver his message. He couldn’t be trusted not to drag her to the back of her shop and shag her senseless if she gave him even half a reason to think she still felt the same as she did last year. 

He hopped out, dried off, and was just getting dressed when he heard Pam call out that supper was ready. 

“Smells delicious! What’s on the menu tonight?”

“I was feeling a little nostalgic, so it’s beef Wellington and peas tonight.” 

They began their meal in companionable silence. After the first couple of bites, he just had to burst out with, “Pam, this beef Wellington is  _ unreal _ ! I think you’ve been holding out on me - were you a professional chef in a past life? C’mon, you can tell me!” He gave her his most winning smile.

“Oh stop it, Father! You’ll make me blush! No, this is just a family recipe I’ve made so many times I could do it in my sleep.” Despite her protests, she seemed pleased. 

“You think you’re getting one over on me, dontcha? Just wait. Once I find your secret letters from Gordon Ramsey I’ll blow this case wide open!” He laughed, finger wagging at her in feigned accusation. She just shook her head and laughed. 

“Oh, Father, before I forget - Mrs. Abernathy asked if you could come ‘round tomorrow evening about seven. Mr. Abernathy isn’t feeling well and she hoped you might come by for a blessing.”

He surreptitiously cast his eyes heaven-wards and mouthed  _ Thank you _ . Now he had the perfect, unavoidable reason to leave Hilary’s as soon as he delivered his message. One that he wasn’t likely to back out of if things with Her got more heated than they should. 

“Absolutely! Ring them and let Mrs. Abernathy know I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful! I’ll ring her right after the clearing up is finished.”

***

While he did sleep better that night, his dreams still weren’t peaceful and he didn’t feel rested the next morning. The last dream he could remember having involved being in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by a circle of foxes all perched atop tree stumps. The foxes were there to pass judgment on him, but he woke up before he found out what the verdict was. 

He tried to keep his brain occupied all day, with moderate success, so that he wouldn’t agonize over seeing his Atheist again. He had prepared a little speech and he had a timer set on his phone. He was as ready as he was going to be. 

“Alright Pam, I’m heading out to the Abernathy’s.”

“So early? I thought you weren’t supposed to be there until 7.”

“Yes, well, I want to pick up something to bring them - some baked goods or something. Thought that might cheer them up a bit.”

“How lovely! Yes, I’m sure they would enjoy that. I don’t think they get out too much these days.”

“Alright. Well. Don’t wait up!”

“Just keep the noise down when you come in - I know how wild the Abernathys can be!” They both laughed at the thought of the geriatric Abernathys, the epitome of the British stiff upper lip, doing  _ anything  _ that could remotely resemble a wild time. 

***

The closer he got to Hilary’s, the faster his heart raced and the shorter his breaths got, until he was almost panting when he hit the block her shop was on. He stopped twenty feet from the door and took ten deep breaths before walking the last bit, bouncing up the steps, and walking through the door. 

The first thing that struck him was the décor. All the guinea pigs were gone, replaced by what was obviously art work done by a local artist. The paintings, mostly portraits, even had little tags with prices. The lighting had also been updated to something more modern and complimentary to the art-studio vibe the café now sported. 

“Hi there, Father!” called out a cheery voice. “Sit anywhere you’d like. I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

He spotted the owner of the voice crouched down and peering into a little oven. 

“Oh, ah, actually, I was looking for the owner. Is she around?”

“You’ve found her!” The cheerful woman pulled a tray of fresh scones out of the oven and placed them on the counter. She wiped her hands on her apron and offered one in greeting. “Allison Kirk. What can I help you with, Father?”

“Oh. You own this place?”

“For about a year now. Wanted to combine my love of art with my love of baking and this place just sort of fell into my lap.”

“Oh, oh, well that’s…lovely.”

“If you’re looking for the previous owner, I’m sorry, I can’t help you there. I just met her the day we signed the paperwork and she didn’t leave any forwarding information.”

“Oh. Um. Do you know why she sold it?”

“She just said something about needing a fresh start. She seemed a little...sad...when we met. Haunted almost. I really wanted to ask her to sit for a portrait - she had such striking eyes, and that neck! But she seemed kind of fragile, so I didn’t bring it up. I’m sorry, I can’t really help you. Father? Father? Are you okay?”

He started, realizing his mind had drifted into self-recriminations, thinking he had broken Her somehow. 

“Yes, yes. I’m fine. Fine.”

“Can I get anything for you? Coffee? Cup of tea?”

He jumped when the alarm suddenly went off on his phone. His reminder to leave to make it to the Abernathy’s in time for seven. 

“No to the coffee or tea, but I would like to get a half dozen of those scones, if they’re available.”

“Oh yes, absolutely! I’ll just box them with some of my homemade lemon curd and cream. You know, I can also make a to-go carafe of tea, if you’d like.”

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

“Ok. Give me one minute!”

A few minutes later he was out the door and slowly heading to the home visit, his mind swirling with questions and wondering what he should do next. 

***

By the time he left the Abernathy’s all he could think about was his Atheist and whether or not she was okay. His was alarmed after his meeting with her sister and meeting Ms. Kirk only increased his worry. 

There was no help for it. He was going to  _ have  _ to go by her flat. Just to make sure she was okay. He wouldn’t be able to think of anything else until he did. He wouldn’t go in - just stand at the door, make sure she was okay, tell her the ban on her presence was lifted for her nephew’s baptism and for any future family events, and then he’d leave. No hand shake, no physical contact - just a quick check-in. 

It was almost nine when he arrived at her flat. Luckily, she seemed to be in. The lights were on and he could see the glow of the telly through the window. He rang the buzzer and stepped back, out of easy arm’s reach. 

The baby crying in answer to the doorbell stopped his heart. He held his breath as the door opened. 

“Can I help you…Father?”

The woman at the door cradling an infant in her arms was  _ not _ his Atheist. 

He floundered for what seemed like the millionth time that day. 

“I am  _ so  _ sorry for disturbing you! A friend of mine used to live here and I hadn’t seen her in a while and I was in the neighborhood making a home visit and thought I’d stop by for a moment and see how she was.” He was babbling. He  _ knew _ he was babbling. He just couldn’t stop himself. 

“No worries, Father. Mina wasn’t asleep, so you didn’t wake her. I’m sorry, I don’t have any contact information for the previous owner. We’ve been here for eleven months now, just before Mina was born. Everything was handled through an agent; we moved home from overseas so couldn’t do anything in person. I’m sorry, I wish I could help. Though, if it helps at all, I’m pretty sure this place didn’t become available because the previous owner passed. I think my agent would have mentioned that.”

Oh God. That hadn’t even crossed his mind. Now it was lodged there, making him feel queasy and feverish. Something must have shown on his face. 

“Oh no! Now I’ve worried you! I’m so sorry! This baby-brain has turned my common sense to mush. I’m sure she’s fine! Maybe I can contact the agent we used and see if I can get a contact number or something!”

“No, no! Please, it’s fine. I’ll reach out to her family. Really, it’s fine!”

“Okay then. If you’re sure.”

“I am! I am. Again, my apologies for disturbing you. Have a good night!”

“Father, before you go...like I said, we just moved from overseas. I’ve been busy with the baby,

and my husband has been working overtime to get his company’s new corporate offices set up, but we attended San Manuel y San Benito when we were in Madrid and we were going to start looking for a new church soon. What church are you at? I rather fancy attending a church where the priest so obviously cares about his congregation.”

He flinched inside. 

“I am blessed to be appointed to St. Ethelred’s.”

“St. Ethelred’s. Such an odd name should be easy to remember. I’m Laura, by the way. My husband’s name is Phillip and you’ve met Mina here. Hopefully we’ll be able to attend in the next few weeks. Phillip’s mad schedule is winding down and he’ll be able to help me more with Mina so I’ll look less like a wet hand towel and actually be able to show my face in public!”

“You look absolutely wonderful! Look, give me your information and I’ll have Pam, the church secretary, give you a call. I’m sure the ladies in the congregation would love to come by and give you a helping hand.”

Laura beamed at him. “You are  _ such _ a wonderful man!”

The Priest put her contact information in his phone and bid her good night. 

***

His thoughts churned the entire way back to the rectory. He let himself in and quietly made his way upstairs. Once in the safety of his room, he quickly changed into his pyjamas and flung himself down on his narrow church issue bed to toss and turn in an agony of worry. 

She had sold the café. Moved house. She wasn’t going to attend her nephew’s baptism. Now that he thought back on their conversation, Claire’s  _ no _ on that had seemed very...final.

The thought of her sick - what had her mother died of? Had she ever said? - nearly brought on a panic attack.  _ She can’t be dead. She can’t be. If she was I’m absolutely  _ **_sure_ ** _ her Godmother would have called me to officiate, despite - or more likely  _ **_because_ ** _ \- She was atheist. Her Godmother wouldn’t be able to help herself. She would have to make a spectacle of mourning.  _

That thought helped calm him a bit. But it just brought him back to one thought, one question,  **_the_ ** question:

_ Where the Hell was his Atheist?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Fleabag will show up soon. I just have to torture the Priest a little while longer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Priest needs a little help.

“Claire, hey, this is Father…”

“I know who this is. Can I help you?”

“Yeah. I realized I forgot to ask if there were any particular verses you wanted said at the baptism.”

“No. Whatever the standard ones are is fine. Is that all?”

“No, not...quite…” He swallowed nervously. 

“Spit it out Father. They’re about to call me back for my post-natal visit and there are some emails I  _ have  _ to send out first.”

“Just...your sister…”

“What about my sister?” she asks sharply. 

“Ah, is she okay? The two of you seemed close and…”

She cuts him off before he can finish his sentence. “She’s fine. She’s just fine. Is that all?”

“Well, yes…”

“Then I’ll see you at the baptism. Goodbye.”

***

He spends the weeks leading up to the baptism worrying and praying and trying to focus on his duties. His parishioners can tell something is wrong, but no one asks. That has to be one of the hardest things about the priesthood - the loneliness. Even when he’s in the company of others, there’s always an invisible wall. 

With his congregation, it’s the wall between a shepherd and his flock. They come to him for guidance and help shouldering  _ their _ burdens. They didn’t want to, and it would be wrong to ask them to, help him with his. 

He had gone to his fellow priests before, of course. He’d gone to confession and made his penance for breaking his vows. But the only advice there was the same he had given that night at the bus stop -  _ it’ll pass _ . But it hadn’t. Not for him. He had tried, he really had, but she was lodged in his heart like a burr and he feared that ripping her out would damage him in some undefinable way that would ultimately cause more harm than good and might lead him away from the church and back in to all of the turmoil that had caused him to seek out the priesthood in the first place. If that happened, he would still lose her. He hadn’t been the type of man that stuck around when things got hard. 

And he didn’t have friends. He wasn’t being flippant or facetious when he told her that he was a big reader with no friends. All of his friends from before Seminary had distanced themselves when they realized he was serious about the priesthood. Afterwards, it was just other priests. When he had made connections with people outside of the priesthood, they didn’t tend to stick around once they realized he was a priest. People tended to be uncomfortable socializing with someone whose career was, well, God. They constantly felt the need to apologize any time they did something they perceived as “wrong.” Friendships couldn’t last under that kind of pressure. 

He thought wistfully of the time he had spent with Her pre-Confessional. She hadn’t been put off by his calling; hadn’t censored herself around him. She was just herself and that had allowed him to be more than a Father. Allowed him to be just a normal guy for the first time in a very long time. 

Thinking of her naturally had him thinking about the first night they met, which reminded him of the “bedroom gift” her father gave her at the engagement party. Maybe what he needed was an outside perspective. Someone to tell him what to do to get over her. 

A quick Google search for local counselors brought him to a directory of options, all with ratings and little bios. He found one nearby who looked like the no nonsense type of person he needed to set him straight. He books an appointment for the following Monday, usually a slower day for him, and then goes about his day feeling just a little more light-hearted now that he had a plan. 

***

The waiting area was comfortable, but not cozy. The decorations were tasteful, but not trendy. The overall vibe was “guidance counselor meets maiden aunt” but in a good way. 

He had dressed in his favorite fuzzy blue jumper and jeans. While he wholeheartedly believed in counseling and therapy, he didn’t want to advertise his profession to all and sundry. He also found that the collar kind of put people off, made them keep their distance a bit, and that wasn’t the relationship he wanted with his therapist. 

His first impression of guidance counselor/maiden aunt was bolstered when he entered her office. Gauzy yellow drapes hung by the windows. There were two plump wingback chairs, mismatched - one yellow, one pink - but complimentary, facing each other over a small coffee table stocked with tissue and water. 

The Counselor was an older woman, sharp featured, with piercingly intelligent eyes. The once over she gave him made him feel completely exposed, like she could read his heart and the deepest secrets of his soul. It was an extremely uncomfortable feeling. 

“Please, sit.”

He made his way over to the empty seat and sat gingerly at the edge. The Counselor reached for a bottle of moisturizer on the table, added a few pumps to her palm, and began applying it to her arms. 

“Excuse me, I have dry forearms.”

“Sure, sure. No problem.”

She picked up her notepad and prepared to write. “So why have you come to this session?”

Pinned by her sharp gaze, the Priest wanted nothing more than to stammer an apology for wasting her time and flee. Instead, he took a deep breath, summoned his courage, and said in a rush, “I fell in love and completely fucked up my life and maybe hers and I need help fixing it.” 

“You fell in love?”

“Yes.” Scribble scribble. 

“And falling in love fucked up your life?”

“Yes.” Scribble scribble. 

“Is she married?”

“No. Well, she wasn’t at the time. I haven’t seen her in over a year, so she might be now.” Scribble scribble. 

“Are you married?”

“Yeah.”

“I see. And your partner…”

“Is God. I cheated on God. I’m a Catholic priest and I cheated on God with a hot atheist that I had really amazing sex with and then I broke up with her. At a bus stop. After her father’s wedding. Which I officiated.”

He buried his face in his hands but pulled his hands away and looked at the Counselor when he didn’t hear the scratch or her pen. He expected a look of disgust or pity or some sort of disapproval. Her expression of cool detachment hadn’t changed, but there was a glint of  _ something  _ in her eyes that he couldn’t name. Almost like a piece of a puzzle had clicked into place for her. Odd. 

“Have you talked about this with anyone else?”

“Well, I had to confess, obviously. I’m not the first and certainly won’t be the last, so the bishop was very understanding. And it was between two consenting adults so I’m pretty sure the bishop was more relieved than anything else. I did my penance and I’ve stayed away from her ever since.”

“You confessed and did your penance, but something has driven you here more than a year after you last saw her.”

He sighed heavily. 

“Her Godmother asked me to perform the baptism for her sister’s baby. My Atheist’s sister, not the Godmother’s.” Scribble scribble. 

“I see. And you’re nervous about seeing her again since your feelings are still there. Are they?”

“What?”

“Your feelings - are they still there?”

“Oh. Oh yes. The feelings are very much still there.”

“Are you worried that seeing her at the baptism will result in resuming your former relationship?”

“Well, we didn’t really have a relationship. We didn’t know each other long enough for that. Only a few weeks, really. What we had was...chemistry.”

“So you weren’t compatible outside of bed?”

“Oh, well...yes, I mean no. No. We spent a little time together before the, the sex.” Sweet Jesus. Had he just said “the sex” like some sort of MRA troll? “And we were compatible. She was easy to talk to. Fun. Smart. She made me laugh and challenged me constantly. I felt more alive when I was around her. But I’m not worried about seeing her at the baptism.”

“Oh really? Why is that?”

“She won’t be there.”

“And you know this because..?”

“I asked her sister.”

“I see. And did her sister indicate why her child’s aunt wouldn’t be in attendance, presuming that they are close?”

“She didn’t say. And I wondered if it was because…”

“Because..?”

He hung his head. He felt wretched having to explain to someone that he, a priest, had banned someone from church. Instead of showing her how wonderful a relationship with God could be, he drove her away and did everything but flat out say she wasn’t welcome in God’s house. He was a terrible priest. 

He started when the Counselor cleared her throat. 

“I wondered if she wasn’t attending the baptism because I had banned her from my church.”

“Banned her?”

“Yes, at the bus stop. I told her she was never allowed in my church again.”

“I see. So your concern is..”

“After her sister confirmed she wouldn’t be at the baptism, I worried that she wasn’t coming because of what I said.”

“Your ban?”

He looked up at her sharply but didn’t get the sense she was laughing at him, so he continued. 

“Yes, because of the ban. So I went to her café to tell her that of course she could come to baptism - and any other family events at the church. And she wasn’t there. She sold the café. Then I went to her flat and found she had moved house. I don’t know where she is or what happened. And I’m afraid I’ve hurt her. No, I  _ know _ I hurt her. What I’m afraid of is that I’ve broken her in some way. And not knowing is breaking me apart.”

“And what happens if you do find out that you have, as you say, broken her? Has anything changed in your situation since you last spoke to her?”

“No.”

“So you would, what, ascertain that she’s miserable and then return to the church secure in the knowledge that you’re both unhappy?”

“No! No, no, no, NO! I don’t  _ want _ her to be unhappy. I want  **everything** for her. I want her happy and thriving. She deserves to be happy.”

“Hm.”

“What does that mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“That hm. That was a very loaded hm.”

“I just find it interesting that you didn’t say that you wanted her to find love.”

“Of course I want her to find love!”

“Hm.”

“Oh my God would you stop making that noise! Look, I just need you to tell me how not break my vows. Again.”

“I don’t think finding this woman will give you the closure you think will.”

“Can you just tell me what to do?”

“You know. You already know what you’re going to do. Everybody does.”

“What?”

“You’ve already decided what you’re going to do.”

He let his chin fall to his chest. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”

  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A baptism, a trip, and a surprise.

The day of the baptism, he watched her family file in, hoping that something had changed and she had decided to come. He really wanted her to come. 

Claire looked softer than usual, dressed in a lovely pale blue sundress and cardigan and gently holding a darker blue bundle in her arms. The blond man she came in with, who must be the new husband, couldn’t keep his hands off her, not in a sexual way, but in a way that openly telegraphed his love and affection: taking her elbow to guide her around a perceived obstacle, placing a hand in the small of her back when she stopped to talk to someone, running his fingers through her hair absentmindedly. And Claire, who had been tightly wound and constantly radiating a stand-off-don’t-touch-me vibe, didn’t seem to mind a bit. In fact, she seemed to come alive with each touch and every shared glance. Her father looked much the same as always: dark suit and genially befuddled expression. Her Godmother, sweet baby Jesus,  _ her Godmother. _ She sailed in dressed in a white concoction looking for all the world like it was  _ her _ baptism. Long A-line gown trimmed in lace and pearls, a half-cape, dainty slippers, and a turban studded with blue stones that matched the baby’s blanket. She gave him a predatory smile and little finger-wave before sitting next to her husband. The rest of the party followed behind, obviously Klare’s family since they all sported different shades of blond hair and big, friendly smiles. He looked over the congregation, but his Atheist was nowhere to be found. She really wasn’t here. 

He cleared his throat and began the service, heart heavy. 

***

Everything went smoothly and soon he was at the door bidding everyone goodbye. He felt a possessive hand slide up his forearm to grab his biceps. 

“ _ Father, _ what a lovely service. So warm. So passionate. It really  _ moved _ me.  _ Deeply _ .”

“Ah, yes, well, glad you enjoyed it.” 

“Yes, Father! So wonderful!” Klare’s enthusiastic voice cut it. “So glad to finally meet the man who inspired my Claire to come find me. Love, ya?”

He blinked at the blond man in confusion, “What?” 

“Oh, you didn’t know?" He looked questioningly at Claire, who shrugged. “You speech at her isä’s, at her  _ father’s _ , wedding made her realize her love for me and she left and found me at the airport. So dear. So romantic.”

“Oh stop it. It wasn’t a big deal!” Claire was actually blushing. 

“But my little Nasu, it  _ was.  _ I thought you didn’t care for me but you did.” He beamed at her. Claire looked even more flustered. 

Trying to take the focus off of her the Priest asked, “Nasu? What’s that mean?”

“It’s a Finnish thing. An endearment. It’s ah, the, the Piglet, yes, the Piglet from the Winnie the Pooh.” Baby Cade took that moment to start fussing. “Ah, I believe someone is hungry!”

Claire rolled her eyes and muttered, “He’s insatiable, like his father,” but the soft smile on her face betrayed how happy she was. 

“Come, Nasu, let’s get to the car so you can feed our little nappula.” They smiled their farewells and left for the car. 

“She hasn’t worried one bit about the effect breastfeeding is going to have on her breasts, the dear. Such a shame, though. Oh well, at least she’s found someone who won’t care if they’re a little…” here the Godmother stopped to make a little gesture to indicate deflated. Her father was looking everywhere except his wife. 

Then Priest’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard. Klare had mentioned Piglet.  _ No one  _ usually mentions Piglet. He took it as a sign and screwed up his courage. 

“So,” he stated casually, “I noticed someone seemed to be missing.”

“You mean my unstable step-daughter?” He tried not to grimace at her description and simply nodded. 

“Dear..” her father tried to interject with the barest hint of admonishment. She waved off his attempt. 

“Oh, she took off a few weeks after our wedding. Said she needed to get away for awhile. Find herself or some such nonsense. Sold the café and her flat. We’re not sure where she is. Rather selfish of her to not come to her only nephew’s baptism, I think. Anyway. Would you like to ride with us for the tea, Father? I’ll sit in the back and keep you company.”

Now he was really worried. His Atheist hadn’t seemed the type to run away from anything. “No, actually, I’m afraid I won’t be able to make it to the party.”

There was a flash of anger, instantly smoothed over with a façade of concern. “Oh, really? Why not? I hope no one is ill!”

“No, no, nothing like that. I’ve been invited to a retreat by an old mentor of mine and my train leaves at three. Just enough time to get changed and catch the bus, I’m afraid.”

“Well, you’ll have to come to dinner when you return. I insist.” 

“Oh, ah, yes, yes. Certainly.”

“Goodbye, Father!” She gave his arm one last squeeze before sailing off behind her husband, who was already halfway to the car park by that point. 

***

His steps back to his room were heavy and slow. Thoughts of her weighed on his mind he was nervous about this retreat. About having the conversations he knew he was going to have to have. 

The counseling sessions were helping. His eagle-eyed Counselor had convinced him he needed twice-weekly sessions to really work through his issues. He spent his second session with her talking about his childhood and how he ended up in the priesthood. He told her about the invitation to the retreat and she encouraged him to attend when he would have declined. 

Father William had been one of his favorite mentors and the one who always told it like it was. He had told them all, fresh out of Seminary and filled with the desire to change the world by faith, that they had a hard road and would be plagued with doubt and temptation. Of course they all scoffed at this, still brimming with the Holy Spirit and convinced that they would be faithful shepherds, guarding His flock and guiding them to His infinite mercy. God he had been such an idiot. 

He changed into traveling clothes, grabbed his duffle, and caught the bus to the train station. 

Father William’s parish was just outside of Edinburgh. The Priest tried to relax and enjoy the eight plus hour train ride through the countryside but found himself dozing on and off, plagued by dreams of foxes in red lipstick. He arrived at Waverly after midnight. Father William was easy to find in the thin crowd. 

“Ah lad, so good to see you again! Come, come. The car’s this way. She’s a bit of a banger, but she’ll get us where we need to go.” Father William clapped a hand on his shoulder and led him to the car which was, as stated, a banger. It was thirty years old if it was a day and it looked like someone had used it for bumper cars. 

“There will be six of us this weekend. You and me, two Micheals, David, and Paul. You’re the youngest of the lot by a good twenty years. Truth be told, I’m surprised you accepted my invitation.” William looked over at the Priest as they pulled onto the road. “It’s been, what, ten years since I last saw you? Heard you’d taken over Ethelred’s when Patrick passed.”

“Yeah.”

William glanced at him again. “That’s it? “Yeah”? Lad you wanted your own parish so badly I think even the Pope may have heard. I figured you’d be blethering on about it as soon as you saw me.”

“Can we shelve this ‘til later? I’m fair knackered.” He couldn’t quite meet William’s eyes.

“Aye, that we can.”

They rode in companionable silence the rest of the way to the parsonage. The moon was full and silvered the hills they drove through, making a bright ribbon of the road. Forty minutes later they arrived outside a snug little house next to an old church. Despite his anxiety, the Priest couldn’t wait to explore the grounds once the sun was up. Such a nerd. 

“Your room is upstairs, second on the left. See you in the morning.”

The room was small and the bed only a single, but it was cozy and he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

He was toweling off his hair at the top of the stairs, about to make his way down when he heard the bell go.

“My favorite heathen!” exclaimed William delightedly. 

“Father. Father. Father.” The Priest could hear the smile in the woman’s voice and could picture the cheeky expression she wore as she greeted the flock of priests already downstairs. He froze. His Atheist was here. In Scotland. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drink. And a priest. And a chat.

“Not a heathen, actually. I disbelieve in all gods equally.”

He couldn’t see her; she was blocked by the open door. He really wanted to see her. He really wanted to run away. 

William and the three priests already downstairs chuckled. 

“I was beginning to wonder where you had got off to. Expected delivery much earlier.” He wagged an admonishing finger. 

“Sorry, there was an incident with one of Mrs. Crimbly’s cows and I was up until 3 trying to shoo the blasted thing back across the fence.”

“So not prison, huh? Dammit. Carl won that round.” 

She laughed the full, hearty laugh she had whenever she was genuinely amused. “Nope, sorry. If I haven’t ended up there yet, I’m certainly not going down for petty theft. Here are the scones, precisely as requested and paid for, and I’ve put the door code to the barn in an envelope under the tea towel in case any of you fancy grabbing a bicycle or the golf cart. No one’s staying this weekend, so help yourselves.”

William looked genuinely surprised. “No guests? That’s unusual.  _ The Cottage _ has been pretty busy since you took over. I’ve read the reviews - you’ve really outdone yourself with the place.”

She murmured a soft,”Thanks” and the Priest could easily imagine the rosy blush that was staining her cheeks. She continued in her normal tone, “I knew you were having guests, and it’s been a while since I’ve had a bit of a holiday, so I blocked out this week. You’re all welcome to wander the grounds or use any of the amenities you’d like.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. I’m sure the lads...no, do  **not** give me that look, when they’re in their eighties they will still be lads to me...I’m sure the  **lads** would enjoy a tramp through the woods or maybe a day fishing at the pond.” Here, the lads in question responded with enthusiastic nods. “There, you see?” 

“Yes, yes, you and the  _ lads _ are welcome to come ‘round whenever you like.” Now he pictured her throwing up her hands in surrender. 

William made a  _ come in  _ gesture. “Would you like to join us for tea?” The Priest prepared to bolt back into his room. 

“Oh, no thank you. There’s a novel and a porch swing anxiously awaiting my return. It was nice meeting you all!” He could picture the finger wave she probably gave them before William closed the door. 

The Priest came down the stairs slowly. 

“Lovely woman, even if she is English. And an atheist. She can bake  _ and _ cuss a blue streak. Looks awfully bonny in a sundress, too. If I were thirty years younger, I swear my vows would be in serious trouble! Instead I’ll have to content myself with these sinful scones!”

The Priest expected disapproving look at the very least from the others at William’s unpriestly words. Instead they chuckled appreciatively and began moving toward what he assumed was the kitchen. 

William turned as the Priest reached the last step. “Good morning! Come meet the others. We’ve got tea and fresh scones from the bed and breakfast next door. The manager is a dear friend and she never skimps on her treats.”

William made the introductions as they settled around the old wooden table and they all bowed their heads for a quick prayer. 

The first bite of blueberry scone had Father Paul humming in appreciation. 

“See? I told you she was talented.”

He wrapped his hands around his mug of tea to keep from fidgeting.  _ Don’t ask don’t ask don’t ask _ . “So, how did the two of you meet?” Dammit. 

“Oh, the usual way priests meet new people in villages like this. I saw a new face at the grocer’s and immediately started to invite her to church on Sunday. His eyes crinkled at the memory. “I didn’t even make it past my name before she said, ‘I’ll just stop you right there, Father. I appreciate the invitation but I’m a confirmed atheist and even if I did decide to start believing in your God, we’d currently be engaged in a no-holds barred grudge match. To the death. And I cheat. But only because He cheated first.’ Well, how could I walk away from an opening like that?” The other priests chuckled and William mistook his look of desperate curiosity over her “grudge match” statement for surprise. He went on kindly, “She was obviously in some pain and I thought she could use someone to talk to. And we do talk, but sometimes I get the feeling that seeing me stirs up memories she’d rather not look too hard at. She keeps things on the surface, but I’m hopeful that one day she’ll be able to let go of whatever ghosts are haunting her.”

The Priest felt a rush of relief that William hadn’t been able to succeed in getting his Atheist to open up where he had failed. And then he felt a rush of guilt - he wanted her to be at peace and happy and he should want her to open up to someone, even if that someone wasn’t him. Especially if it wasn’t him, since he had essentially banished her from his life. 

He started when he noticed the other priests watching him curiously. 

“Sorry. Lost in my own thoughts.” The others nodded their understanding. He took a bite of scone to distract himself.  _ Fuuuuck _ . It was  _ delicious.  _

Father Micheal - the one with the beard - and Father Paul were both from one of the larger churches in Glasgow. Their rectory housed three priests. The beardless Father Micheal presided over a parish in Dumfries and Father David had retired in Leeds. David, the oldest of their number at eighty-two, had been up and out the door at sunrise, according to William, and wouldn’t be back until dark. He enjoyed going into the village and conducting home visits in William’s place “to keep my hand in,” as he said. The Glaswegian priests wanted to try out the fishing and the remaining Micheal produced a compact, portable easel and left to find the perfect spot to paint. 

The Priest remained at the table nursing his tea, sunk in his memories. 

After wiping down the table, William settled himself in the chair next to the Priest and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Alright lad, now that the others have gone, do you want to tell me what’s driven you here? I know what pain looks like and you’re drowning in it.”

He looked at William, planning to dissemble, but the kind, nonjudgmental look on William’s face completely undid him. He let the tears fall, hung his head, and told William everything. The only thing he withheld was that William’s new friend was his Atheist. His Love. 

Once he finished his tale, he steeled himself and looked up, expecting to see disappointment, disapproval, judgement. Instead, William wiped tears from his own eyes and pulled the Priest into a hug. 

After a moment, Father William release him but placed one of his wrinkled hands on top of the Priest’s. 

“So now what will you do?”

“I thought I made the right choice. I worked so hard, sacrificed so much for this life. I really,  _ truly  _ wanted it. I felt Called to serve Him. Now I don’t find any joy in service.”

“When you first came to Seminary I told you, all of you, what a hard life this was. That there would be temptations and trials and that being ordained would not be the end of them.”

He sighed, “I know…”

“I wasn’t done,” William admonished. 

“Sorry, sorry!”

“What I didn’t say at the time, because none of you would have listened, is that a Call to the priesthood may not be the last Call you hear. Do you love this woman?”

“Yes,” he whispered. 

“Have you told her about your past? What brought you to the priesthood?”

He sighed and closed his eyes, the hand not being held by his mentor clenching tight. “No. I tried but got...distracted.” He flushed at the memory. “I want her to know. I want her to know everything about me and I want to know everything about her. I want to wake up next to her every morning, fix her breakfast, share our day. I want to have fights over what trashy telly to watch and what pillows to buy. I want absent-minded kisses on the cheek. I want to hold hands and walk in the park. But...But,” he took a deep breath. “I also want to serve God. I want to hold Sunday services and marry people and baptize babies and share His love with everyone who wants it.”

Father William looked at him quizzically, “And these things are mutually exclusive?” The Priest gaped at him. 

“Aren’t they?”

“As a Catholic priest, yes. I’m sorry, but the Church isn’t changing that quickly. And it may never change enough to allow for the type of relationship you want.”

His shoulders slumped in dejection. It’s not like he didn’t know this, but it still hurt to hear it spoken aloud. 

“However, and I don’t say this lightly, you do not have to be a Catholic priest to serve God in the ways you’ve described.” William sighed sadly. “The Church and her priesthood have been my life for the last seventy years. I have seen great works done in His name and I’ve seen atrocities disguised as His Word. There are many points upon which the Vatican and I differ. But I believe that I am a shepherd of the Lord and that all who seek my guidance deserve to be seen and heard as the individuals He has made them. So while the Church would lose a good priest if you decide to leave, you will always be a good man and I know you will lead by example. Your caring heart won’t let you do otherwise. And I will also say, because I’m certain that it is one of the fears that is holding you back - you are not the person you were before you joined the Seminary. And I cannot see you becoming him again, even if things don’t work out between you and this atheist of yours.”

The Priest didn’t know what to say. His heart, which he’d battered and bruised by trying to purge it of his feelings for her, felt like a balm had been poured over it. This was the most at peace he’d felt since waking up next to her and feeling her fingers gently stroking the back of his neck. 

“Now, are you going to go next door and tell her or will I catch you sneaking out later this week?” William chuckled at his gobsmacked expression. 

“Wha..? How did you…? What?”

“Lad, when you’ve been a priest as long as I have, you notice these things. I thought you were going to have a stroke when she started talking and all your blood rushed in the opposite direction of your brain. Explains her dodginess about the collar, too.”

The Priest didn’t think he could blush any harder.

“I don’t even know how she feels. She may have moved on. I told her it would pass.”

William looked thoughtful. “If she has moved on, what will you do? Remain a Catholic priest?”

He didn’t try to hide his pained expression. “No. I don’t think I can. Not that I think there could ever be another person that makes me feel the way she does, but I don’t think I can stay in the Church. As you said, there is a lot I’ve found I don’t agree with. No religion is perfect, but I want my faith to be inclusive of everyone. I don’t want people to deny parts of themselves in order to belong. We’re all made in God’s image and He contains multitudes. There’s room for everyone.”

“Well then, I think you have an atheist to visit.”

The Priest grinned. “Yeah, I guess I do!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next...a meeting six chapters in the making.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting.

He didn’t immediately run to find her after his conversation with Father William. Not that he was a vain man, but he did want to look nice when seeing her for the first time in nearly a year and a half. With that in mind, he borrowed Lucille (an absolutely  _ ridiculous  _ name for William’s car. He loved it) and went into the village to buy a new pair of trousers. And maybe a jumper, something soft and cozy to counteract the northern chill. Hm. Should he buy anything to wear under the trousers or nah? He’d have to think on that one. New soap, definitely. He also wanted to pick up a little something just for her. Something she could keep that would remind her of him no matter what ended up happening between them. 

It was getting towards evening by the time he got back to the parsonage, showered, and dressed. He slipped her present in his pocket and headed downstairs. 

He was surprised to be greeted by all his fellow priests and even more surprised that none of them looked accusatory or disappointed. Old Father David winked at him. The beardless Father Micheal murmured a quiet benediction. Father Paul placed a hand gently on his shoulder. 

“I know you’re scared. You have doubts. You wonder if you’re doing the wrong thing, loving, when we’re all taught that God is love. No matter what happens, remember that His love is infinite and no man can know the mind of God. Even his representatives on Earth.” With that quiet statement, Paul stepped back and purposely grabbed the other Father Micheal’s hand, intertwining their fingers.  _ Oh _ . The Priest smiled at them. 

“You’re right. It’s about time I started believing in something wonderful.”

William quirked an eyebrow at him. “We won’t wait up.”

***

There was just enough light to see by as the Priest made his way along the footpath between the parsonage and her bed and breakfast. The leaves rustled in the wind and the night insects were beginning to strike up their evening chorus. Everything felt peaceful. Everything felt  _ right _ . 

The Cottage was easy to spot in the growing darkness. There was a light or two glowing from the ground floor windows and the verandah was lit with faerie lights. He could just make out a figure on a swing, wrapped in a blanket, one long leg extended to slowly rock it back and forth. As he moved closer, he could hear the faint sound of music and her voice, even softer, singing along. 

“ _ Had a great seven year white knuckle ride _

_ Killing time flying high  _

_ As I held on tight to you, to you _

_ Did I blow my mind on the wild side _

_ Singing hallelujah to 'em every night  _

_ With you, with you _

_ And I'm not gonna lie _

_ Say I've been alright _

_ 'Cause it feels like  _

_ I've been living upside down _

_ What can I say? I'm survivin' _

_ Crawling out these sheets to see another day _

_ What can I say? I'm survivin' _

_ And I'm gonna be fine  _

_ I'm gonna be fine _

_ I think I'll be fine…” _

His heart clenched at the sadness and resignation he could hear in her voice. He was just about to announce himself when the phone rang, cutting off the music. 

“Hello?” Her voice transformed instantly from soft to crisp. Armor in place. All business. “Oh, hi Mark.” 

He glared into the darkness. Who the hell was Mark? 

“Thanks for the invite but I already have plans with someone tonight. In fact, here he comes now. See you at the market on Sunday. Hope you have a new crop of apples in. Father has been asking for one of my pies.” Was that a laugh he detected in her voice? Just the memory of her laugh sent a shiver up his spine.  _ He’d  _ like a slice of her pie, right fucking now. But it looks like he may have missed his chance if she had a date on the way. 

He looked around, prepared to step back in the shadows and return to the parsonage, dejected. He glanced around, but didn’t see or hear anyone approaching. 

“Excellent! I’ll buy a bushel. Thanks Mark!” She hung up and let out a long sigh before abruptly turning her eyes to the front of the house and the path up to the door and cooing, “Well hello my handsome man. Are you happy to see me?”

The Priest would have bolted right then if an imperious  _ meow _ hadn’t sounded from the dark. His Atheist uncurled herself from the blanket and bent down to pick up the small ginger cat that was trying to wind itself around her feet.

“Hello GT. Hello. Yes, yes, I love you too.” This was in response to the cat, presumably GT, insistently head-butting her chin demanding cuddles and scritches. “ _ You _ would never pick an imaginary friend over me, would you? No you wouldn’t. You go and chase your imaginary friends all day and then come home to me, don’t you? Yes you do.” Her conversation with the cat made his heart lift. Maybe he wasn’t too late after all. She buried her face in the cat's fuzzy belly. 

“For fuck’s sake, I’m becoming the crazy cat lady. Claire is never going to let this one go. Maybe I should just say yes to Mark. Lord knows he hasn’t given up after six months of rejection. Then at least I might have someone else getting me off for a change. What do you think, GT? Think I can tempt Mark into some sweaty sexy times?”

“Well, if you can’t tempt Mark, I’d like to offer a second option.” Smiling, the Priest stepped out of the shadows and onto the porch. “In fact, I’m hoping you’ll forget about Mark completely. Though I’m sure he’s a nice enough guy.”

She jumped and swung around, the cat pointed at him like a weapon. “Fuck!” 

The Priest held up his hands in the universal sign of surrender. “Sorry. Sorry!”

She shook her head as if to clear it. “Oh my God, You’re here. I thought you were just in my head. Then. I — I mean you were in my head. But then you were here. Why are you here? Oh my God. You’re one of the priests staying at Father William’s, aren’t you?” GT batted her face with a soft paw so she slowly lowered him to the ground, eyes never leaving the Priest’s face. 

He nodded. 

She looked a little angry. “Fuck. Well, I am  _ not _ leaving. I stayed away, just like you asked.  _ Fuck _ . Shit. I left the whole fucking country just so I wouldn’t lose my fucking mind and tackle you at the pulpit in front of your entire congregation. And now you’re here. Why are you here?” Her dark eyes regarded him soberly. 

Her words reminded him of the night when he asked her something similar. He remembered how that night began. Her opening up. Trusting him with a hidden part of herself. How he couldn’t resist coming to her, kneeling in front of her, kissing her tenderly in the hopes of showing her she wasn’t alone. Then the feeling of soaring when his tender press of lips led to hot open-mouthed kisses as they tried to devour each other, tried to join two disparate broken beings into one whole. Then he remembered how the night ended, with the feeling of screaming, terrifying free-fall when the painting fell and he pulled away, disgusted with himself and the frailty of his flesh. 

But he wanted tonight to be different. End differently. 

“I’m here because...because…” Dammit. Why was it so hard to say? She moved closer, curiosity and fear warring for supremacy on her face. He took a deep breath in. Breathed out. “I’m here because I love you. That feeling was you. It was God, but it was also you. I was too scared to see it at the time. I thought I would become the man I was before the priesthood if I let myself walk away from the Church. That I would lose you  _ and  _ Him if I chose you, so I didn’t. And I almost lost you both anyway. And I’m tired of only having half a life. The work I do, it is fulfilling and it brings me joy. But without you in my life, that joy is temporary because it feels like I’m not a whole person. Not that I need you to make me whole, but that the love I feel for you does that. And I know the God I believe in wants me to be happy and whole.”

He looked into her eyes, imploring her to understand. “And I want to make you happy, too. I want to be  _ with _ you, in every sense of the word. And I know I may be too late, and I know you may not feel the same for me, but I had to try. Had to tell you. Even if you don’t feel the same, I’m leaving the Catholic priesthood. But...I hope that you maybe...might possibly...give me a second chance?”

She continued to regard him solemnly, dark eyes intense and hard. “I shouldn’t. You hurt me. Really hurt me. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve told someone I love them? And, okay, you didn’t ask me to. And you didn’t make me any promises. And I know I'm being unreasonable….but,” her flow of words stopped. She breathed out slowly. Then she nodded once, slowly, eyes softening, “Okay.”

His heart leapt. “Okay?”

She nodded again. “Yeah. Okay.” Then she reached out and gently grabbed his hand. “But first…”

“First?”

She looked thoughtful for a minute. Then she pulled him towards the door. 

“First I need to tell you about Boo.”

***

She led him to a cozy sitting room and gently pushed him onto the sofa. She turned to walk over to the chair across from him, but he kept their fingers intertwined and pulled her down beside him. He wasn’t going to willingly part from her any time soon. He wrapped his arms around her - God she felt so good! When she was silent for too long, he gently nudged her with his forehead. She glanced at him and slowly started speaking. 

They spent hours twined together on the couch talking, just talking. She told him all about Boo, her mom, the hole in her heart and how she’d tried to fill it with booze and sex and tried to keep it from getting any bigger by pushing everyone away. In turn, he told her about his childhood and all the bad choices he made that left him shattered and despairing. They talked about their shared addictions. Their fears and their worries and all the ways they were broken. 

She told him about realizing that she was never going to be able to move on with her life by holding on to the bad parts of her past - all the sad and painful memories of her mum, and Boo, and him. Instead, she resolved to focus on the good things so that she wouldn’t be tempted to forget about the very people she wanted to remember. When her friend Belinda told her she needed someone to manage the new bed and breakfast she’d purchased outside of Edinburgh, she’d felt that it was just the opportunity she was looking for. A fresh start in a new place with none of her ghosts to haunt her. 

He told her about all of the little things that happened over the last eighteen months that led him to reevaluate his Calling. About his counseling sessions and about his talk with Father William, which solidified his decision to try a new direction in life, one that had room for his faith  _ and _ his Atheist.

“But God! My counselor!” He laughed. “She’s amazing but always makes me feel vaguely like a naughty school boy!” 

“She should get together with mine. At our first meeting I told her I needed her to tell me how not to fuck a priest,” the Priest tried to look scandalized and landed on lascivious instead, “and the woman actually told me  _ You already know what you’re going to do. Everyone does. _ ” She laughed until she saw the incredulous look on his face. “What?”

“Is her office on Mitcham? And how does she feel about scarves and moisturized forearms?”

She goggled at him. “No way.”

He nodded, grinning. “‘Fraid so. Apparently  _ someone, _ ” he cast his eyes upward, “was having a little fun.” Now he knew what that flash had been in the Counselor’s eyes - recognition. That woman was a stone cold professional. 

She tilted her face up to murmur against his jaw. “Hm. So no more falling paintings?” His breath caught. 

“No more falling paintings.”

She turned towards him a little more, leaning halfway into his lap, lips pressing into his neck. “No more running away?”

His arms tightened around her. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. “Nope. No more running away.”

She continued to twist herself around him until she was straddling his lap, arms around his neck, fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, and forehead pressed to his. His heart beat wildly and his breath was coming in short gasps. He couldn’t keep himself from lifting his hips and grinding against her. He looked into her eyes and saw all the love, all the desire, all the need he felt reflected back at him. 

She ghosted her lips over his and then leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “Kneel for me.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy!

He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and stood, turning around to set her gently on the sofa. He kept his lips pressed to hers, increasing the pressure and then slowly opening his mouth to press his tongue against her lips. She opened for him and he slowly and deliberately tasted her, tongues pressing together for a moment before he cradled the back of her head with his hand then held her still while he deepened the kiss. 

He couldn’t believe he was back here. With her. That she hadn’t moved on, forgotten about him. That she was willing to give him another chance. He intended to prove to her how sorry he was and how much he loved her, would always love her. 

He pulled away, taking her lower lip between his teeth as he moved. She moaned and the sound reverberated down his body straight to his cock. He wanted to strip them both naked and drive into her until they were both spent and sated, gasping on the floor. Instead, he toed off his shoes and knelt in front of her. He drew his lips away from her mouth, ghosting them along her jaw before licking, sucking, and biting his way down her neck to her clavicle. After so long apart, thinking he would never be here again, he wanted to take the time to worship every inch of her.

The little mewling noises she made were driving him crazy. He popped back up to her mouth for a hard, demanding kiss while his hands feverishly worked open the buttons of her shirt. He pulled the edges to the side and sat back to take in the glorious sight before him. 

“Hmm.  _ There _ they are,” he grinned before diving forward to gently pull at her hardened nipple with his lips, tongue leaving a damp spot on her barely-there bra. She moaned and arched her back, pushing her breasts towards him and reaching up to pull his head more tightly against her. “You know,” he whispered, breath warm against the wet spot he created, making her shudder uncontrollably, “I think I’m going to have to…” (bite) “reevaluate…” (lick) “how peace ruining…” (suck) “your tits are.” He glanced up at her face. Her eyes were half-closed in pleasure as she looked down at him, lips curving up in a slight smile. 

“Do tell.” Her voice was already raspy with pleasure and the sound of it, knowing that he was causing it, made his heart sing. 

He brought his hands up to cup her breasts and squeeze lightly, circling his thumbs around and over her nipples. “Right now they’re bringing me loads of peace just thinking about getting to taste them. Over and over and…” (quick nip) “over again.” He shot her another quick grin before continuing on his pilgrimage, kissing and licking his way down her stomach. He paused when he reached the waistband of her joggers. Off or over? Off or over? She made up his mind for him by reaching down and grabbing the waistband, removing them with a quick scrunch of her legs and lift of her hips. He had to admit - the skill was impressive. 

He looked up, wanting to check in and see how she was doing. She stretched languidly, a sultry, teasing smile on her face as she spread her legs and slid her toes against his groin, following the ridge of his erection. He closed his eyes and couldn’t stop the groan that seemed to come all the way from his toes. He heard a rustle of cloth and opened his eyes to find she’d removed her shirt and bra completely and was gliding her hands over her breasts, pinching and teasing her nipples without breaking eye contact with him. 

He let out a strangled “ _ Unng.” _

“See something you like?” she smirked. 

His control snapped and, in one swift movement, he lunged forward to drag her knickers down and off. She let out a surprised “eep” when he shoved his arms beneath her, tilted her hips up, and buried his face in her cunt, licking and sucking greedily, desperate to drive her over the edge. She was right on the edge, hands fisted in his hair, head thrown back and crying out his name and a litany of “oh fuck, oh God, fuuuuck,” so he slid two fingers inside her pumping in time with the movement of his tongue against her clit. Her entire body seized, inner muscles clenched around his fingers as he continued to work her gently through her orgasm. He gave her deliciously wet cunt one last swipe with his tongue before kissing his way up her body and cradling her against him as she came down. 

She stirred and cracked an eye open. “Well, that was…” she seemed to search for words and then made do with a little explode-y hand gesture. He chuckled. “Glad I could…” explode-y hands. She rose with a sigh and began walking to the back of the house. 

Did she want him to follow? Was he dismissed? She glanced back over her bare shoulder, “Are you coming or is it time for another crisis of faith?” He bounced to his feet with a grin and strode after her to a cozy little bedroom in the back. 

She grabbed him by the shirt and jerked him to her, hands starting at his shoulders and stroking down to cup his arse as she kissed him, tongue thrusting in and out of his mouth. He scrambled to unbuckle his belt and drop his trousers to the floor before picking her up and encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. The feel of her wet cunt sliding over his bare cock nearly sent him to his knees. 

“Ooh, going commando, Father! What would your parishioners think?” her throaty laugh reverberated down his neck where she was busy pressing kisses along his jaw. The feeling caused him to get even harder, which he didn’t think was possible at this point. 

“Fuck if I care,” he grunted as moved to place her in the bed. He hovered over her a moment before whipping off his shirt, the last piece of clothing before he could be completely skin to skin. 

She eyed him appreciatively, stroking her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and down his back. “You are so beautiful,” she sighed. 

“So what you’re saying is you only want me for my body,” he teased. 

“Absolutely.” Without warning, she wrapped herself around him and rolled, legs clamped around his hips. Before he could comment further, she wiggled her hips, sliding his cock between her labia and grinding down on him. 

His eyes squeezed closed and he whimpered, his hips snapping up to press into her without conscious thought on his part. “Fuuuuuuuuuck. You feel so good.”

“So what you’re saying is you only want me for my body,” she teased back. He was so turned on he could make no other response but to fist his hands in her hair and drag her mouth down to his for a bruising kiss. She chuckled against his mouth and began rocking her hips back and forth, dragging her slick cunt across him. He was about to grab her hips and flip her back over so he could drive into her when she suddenly lifted off him, grabbed the base of his cock, and lowered herself fully on to him. His brain was having trouble processing anything other than the sensations of  _ tight _ and  _ hot _ and  _ so fucking good _ . He grabbed her hips and held her still even though his body was screaming at him to  _ move move MOVE.  _ He looked up into her eyes. 

“I love you.”

Her face softened and her lips quirked into the faintest of smiles. “I love you, too.” She leaned forward and brushed her lips to his and whispered, “Now I’m going to fuck you senseless.” He loosened his grip on her hips and she immediately began to ride him fast and hard. He kissed her mouth, her breasts, anywhere he could touch as she drove herself down on him again and again. The sensations were incredible and it took all his self control not to cum in the first minute. He ran one hand up to her breast to pinch and rub at nipples and used his other hand to part her labia and give him better access to her clit. His thumb worked against her and she rode him and he did his best to keep time with her. He could feel her inner muscles begin to contract and gave her clit a gentle squeeze to send her over the edge. 

Before she could come down completely, he flipped them over and drove into her like he’d been wanting to do all night. He thrust his arms underneath her back and wrapped his hands over her shoulders to pull her down with each of his thrusts. She wrapped her legs around his waist again and he rose on his knees just enough to be able to piston his hips into her. 

He was nearly out of his mind with pleasure and could only chant her name along with a litany of “oh God, oh fuck, Jesus, I love you I love you I love you” before his orgasm hit with a ferocity that blanked his mind and all he could feel was the sensation of releasing deep inside of her tight, wet heat. Consciousness returned as the pulsing in his cock slowed. 

He opened his eyes to find her staring up at him, a pleased smile on her face. He rolled off of her and pulled her close so she was resting halfway on top of him. He nuzzled her hair and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked. 

She rubbed the tip of her nose against his. “Nothing really. Just that I’m happy that you’re here.” He grinned. 

“Me, too.”

“And…”

“And?”

“And I hope you had a big lunch,” she laughed as she rolled on top of him and began to kiss her way down his chest. 

She really was going to be the death of him. But, oh, what a way to go!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.

He woke to the feeling of being watched. It took a minute for his foggy brain to realize where he was and he couldn’t help but break into a smile. He rolled over, making a grab for his Atheist and getting a handful of cat instead. GT yawned at him and went back to sleep, mission of waking the human accomplished. 

Her side of the bed was empty. He searched around for his trousers and found them wedged under the nightstand. He pulled them on and padded softly to the kitchen, where his nose assured him there was coffee to be had. 

She was standing at the sink, facing the window, her tiny pyjama bottoms and tank displaying miles of skin that had his mouth watering and his trousers tightening uncomfortably. He stole up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her neck. 

She pressed back against him and he couldn’t help the shuddering breath the feel of her elicited. “Well good morning to you, too!” He could hear the laugh in her voice. He trailed kisses up her neck and along her jaw. 

“So, (kiss) I have a very (kiss) serious (kiss) question for you.”

She leaned her head back against his shoulder. “Mmhhhmmm?”

“GT?” She laughed and turned to face him. 

“Well, I’m sure you noticed he’s a handsome ginger color, yeah?”

“Indeed.”

“I call him GT for short, a nod to us, as it were. But his full name is Sir Ginger of Tonic. We had a little knighting ceremony and everything. He looks very handsome in his formal collar. What? What?! Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You, my love, are just as uncool as I am. I leave you alone for a minute and you become the crazy cat lady.” He doesn’t think he imagines the pleased flush when he calls her “my love.”

“No, no, you are definitely less cool than me,” she says between kisses. “You can’t be cool when you’re so damn hot,” she leers while groping his bum. 

“That was terrible. I think I’m going to have to punish you for that,” he says as he pretends to drop a kiss on her collarbone but leans further to give her nipple a quick, sharp bite. The sound she makes has him discarding her pyjama bottoms and dropping his trousers to take her right there against the counter. It doesn’t take long before she’s moaning his name, hips jerking wildly as her orgasm takes her, and he’s following right behind. They slide to the floor in a gasping heap and lay against the cabinets until they’ve caught their breath. 

He feels her take a deep, steadying breath and cracks an eye to find her looking at him with a sober expression. 

“So what happens now? With us? Because if you tell me you plan to leave me for God again, I’m going to have to introduce you to my sex dungeon. I’ll claim you never came by and mention strange lights in the woods. There’s still a lot of superstition out this way and I’m sure I can convince everyone the Fair Folks spirited you away.”

“I absolutely want to be introduced to your sex dungeon, but not because I plan on leaving. Well, that’s not completely true…” her face hardens and he rushes to finish “Wait! Wait! Before you gag me and chain me up..God that is so hot! Can I tie you up next?...sorry, sorry, focusing...I do need to send in my resignation and collect my things. Say a proper goodbye to Pam and my congregation. But I will come back to you. If you’ll have me. I haven’t much to offer, except one very battered heart, but it is yours, completely.”

She smiled softly. “Only if you’ll accept mine, too, since it’s also a bit worse for wear.” She looked pensive for a minute and then said quietly, “I know how happy being a priest makes you and I want you to be happy and fulfilled. As much as I love you, I can’t be everything you need. I don’t want you to resent me in five or ten years. Or ever.”

He couldn’t describe the feeling her words gave him. That she had so much love for him and so much empathy and really  _ truly _ understood his need to serve...it was breathtaking. 

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I pursued switching denominations and getting ordained in another faith?”

“Of course I wouldn’t mind.” She lifted her hand and began ticking off points. “One - banging a priest is hot. Two - I want you to be happy. Three - I look cute in Sunday dress. Four - banging a priest is  _ hot.” _

He pulled her over to straddle his lap and cupped her face in his hands. “Would you come to picnics and fêtes and jumble sales?” he breathed. 

She leaned forward until her forehead rested against his and whispered, “I would. Would you help me remember mum and Boo?”

“I would.”

“Would you help me deal with my crazy family?”

“I would.”

She held his gaze for a moment before asking,“And, most importantly…” she licked her lips, “would you help me live out  _ all _ the fantasies I’ve had about you since we met?”

He grabbed her hips and pulled her down while simultaneously thrusting up to grind against her. “I not only would, I insist on it. Where do we start - chronologically or alphabetically?”

***

They spent the next few days in their own little bubble. He hadn’t brought a change of clothes but didn’t really need one. They spent most of their time together bare anyway. Not that their entire relationship was sex-based. They spent plenty of time wrapped up in a blanket on the swing, or the sofa, or in bed, just talking. He’d never been in a relationship where the connection was this effortless. They talked about everything. All the good, bad, and ugly things in their lives. They talked about their self-destructive streaks and how they’d have to work at their relationship. She was still doing teletherapy once a month via Skype and he planned to do the same. He also found a support group for ex-Catholic priests that he planned to join as soon as he made his move permanent. 

He was luxuriating in bed, post-coital and sleepy, when he heard her phone go and her voice as she picked up. She sauntered back in the room a few minutes later, two cups of water and a plate of sandwiches in hand. 

“Gimme gimme gimme!”

She laughed and turned away slightly, “The food or me?”

“Yes.”

She placed her offerings on the nightstand and let him tumble her onto him. After a few lingering kisses followed by the annihilation of their snacks, he laid back against the headboard, content. She snuggled against his side and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She gave a happy sigh and the peered up at him with dancing eyes. 

“That was Father William on the phone.”

He felt a rush of shame that was immediately squelched by remembering his decision to resign. 

“Oh? And what did he want?” His voice was light, but he could tell she had felt his change of mood because she squeezed his hand and gave him a quick peck on the lips. 

“Mostly to make sure I hadn’t ridden you to death.”

He goggled at her. “He did  _ not  _ ask that!” She giggled a ducked her head. 

“Not in those exact words, no, but Father William is a lot more, hm,  _ broad-minded _ , than you’d think. I can see why you were drawn to him as a mentor. You know…” here she looked a bit tentative, like she wasn’t sure how her words would be received, “if you wanted to spend more time with him once you’re up here for good, I wouldn’t mind.” He pulled away a bit so he could study her face. 

“I just mean...William is a good man and I wouldn’t feel, I don’t know, threatened or worried or whatever about you leaving me for the Church again if the two of you spent time together. I think he gets ...lonely… sometimes.”

He felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest with happiness. Somehow, despite all his bad choices, despite all the hurt he had caused, God had graced him with the opportunity to have this brilliant, caring, sexy, snarky woman in his life and even given him a second chance when he blew it the first time. 

“What is it?” She propped herself up on her elbow to look at him. 

“It’s just…”  _ Don’t say it.  _

“I, uh…”  _ Just don’t say it.  _

“What? Tell me! I want to knowwww.”

“Will you marry me?”  _ Just said it _ . He was afraid to look at her. He didn’t want to see her withdraw. Then he felt a gentle hand cup his jaw and slide to the back of his head to draw him down so they were nose to nose. 

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May continue this in a part two if the inspiration strikes.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Fleabag fic and my first fic in a long while. Just can’t get these characters out of my head. Not from the area, so please excuse my Americanisms - or let me know and I’ll edit. Slow burn, and not sure about # of chapters yet.


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